


Until We No Longer Can

by ChokolatteJedi



Series: x6325 [6]
Category: Chuck (TV), White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Consequences, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e09 Point Blank, Gen, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Neal Caffrey & Bryce Larkin Are Twins, Neal Caffrey Does Not Like Guns, Neal Caffrey Needs a Hug, POV Multiple, Phone Calls & Telephones, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bryce, Scolding, Secret Identity, Shock, Spies & Secret Agents, Trauma, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/pseuds/ChokolatteJedi
Summary: Neal, Bryce, and the others deal with the fallout and causes of Neal's break. My take on Point Blank in my x6325-Verse.
Series: x6325 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119584
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Until We No Longer Can

**Author's Note:**

> “Even in times of trauma, we try to maintain a sense of normality until we no longer can. That, my friends, is called surviving. Not healing.” – Lori Goodwin

Neal was only slightly worried when the car stopped at a non-descript warehouse downtown. Peter had told Samson to drive him straight back to the bureau, but after today, Neal wouldn't be surprised if that was some kind of code. Even the worry and surprise were muted, like everything had been today.

What did surprise him was the rough agent who jerked the car door open. "Great, there's another one," he growled, and Neal had a moment of disorientation before realizing that he might be in worse hands than he thought.

"Yeah, and you can't shoot this one, Casey," Samson said, and Neal's blood ran cold.

To his relief, instead of being met with pissed-off OPR agents the moment Neal was dragged into the warehouse, he found a pissed-off Bryce instead. "What part of 'I'm on a mission for two weeks, stay out of trouble' wasn't clear, Neal?" he shouted.

"All of it?" Samson muttered.

"He killed Kate!" Neal protested, still furious, and trying to figure out what was going on. Was Samson really a CIA plant? His brain felt like it was moving through water.

"And that gives you the right to go after him with a gun?" Bryce spat back. "A gun? You hate guns. Not to mention the part where you're a felon. Do you _want_ to go back to prison for life?"

"He. Killed. Kate." Neal repeated venomously. Why didn't that make sense to everyone else?

"Goddamnit!" Bryce kicked the chair beside him, sending it skidding across the room. "Casey, go get your protege."

"We aren't supposed to break her cover—" the angry one called Casey started.

Bryce glared at him. "I don't care. This idiot won't believe it without proof. I already talked to the Director about this."

Grumbling, Casey strode out of the room while Bryce stood glaring at Neal. "What exactly were you planning to do with the gun, shoot him?"

Neal squirmed. "Maybe. He deserves it. He killed Kate."

"Fowler isn't the one pulling the strings, Neal," Bryce growled. "He's just a pawn in all this. And he didn't kill Kate."

"Someone did!" Neal protested.

"Not exactly," came a familiar voice from the door.

Neal spun so fast he overbalanced and staggered. She was standing in the doorway, Casey behind her. Her hair was lighter, pulled back in a ponytail, but it was undoubtedly her. "Kate?"

"Good call, Larkin," she said, nodding at Bryce.

Neal followed the movements, but the words refused to make sense in his mind.

"NSA agent Katelyn Morris," Kate said, flashing a badge like Bryce's at Neal. "I'm sorry about all this, Neal."

None of it was making any sense, but Neal latched onto the — to him — most likely explanation. "Twins?" he asked, looking at Bryce.

Bryce's expression was still thunderous, but his eyes softened when he looked at Neal. "No, Neal."

"Vincent Adler had ties to white supremacist terrorist groups," Kate said, dragging Neal's attention back to her. "The NSA sent me in as Kate Moreau to get close to him and figure out what he was doing with them."

Neal sat down heavily, not even certain how he found a chair, but he managed not to overbalance and fall to the floor.

She continued without seeming to notice, "When Adler bolted, the Agency didn't want my persona to vanish too, so they had me remain as Kate for a while. I was doing small jobs in New York, and when it came time for a new full-time mission, Copenhagen was an easy way to break things off. You were supposed to get over me and move on to Alex," Kate frowned. "You weren't supposed to pursue me all over the world. You and Mozzie screwed up two operations by blowing my cover."

"That's why you had so much trouble finding her," Bryce said, his tone softer than before. "The NSA was hiding her tracks from you. The fact that you even found her at all is a testament to Mozzie's insane connections."

"Moz?" Neal couldn't handle it if Moz wasn't real either.

"He's not a spy," Kate said quickly. "I had him checked out early on. You too, for that matter. There was a bit of kerfuffle at first, but once we established that you weren't Bryce… We thought that having Kate betray you to the FBI and then leave you in prison would be enough to get you to stop looking for her, but then you immediately broke out to find her. Killing her was our last resort. But even that didn't stop you."

It didn't stop him, because he had kept looking for her killer, Neal realized. Which meant that he had just— he had been ready to kill an innocent man! "Fowler?" he managed to ask through the tightness in his chest.

"He's dirty; that's why Adler is able to get him to do his dirty work," Kate spat. "It wasn't hard to manipulate him further to set up Kate's demise."

"I— I—" Neal wasn't sure how to process all of this information.

"You are a particularly tenacious man," Kate said fondly. Or, at least, he thought that was her fond tone. She'd been lying to him for so long Neal wasn't sure of anything anymore. "We considered offering you a job, but you're too much of a pacifist. Although, after today…"

Today… "Oh God," Neal muttered, dropping his head into his hands. Today he'd gotten a gun; he'd almost used it on someone! He would have used it on Fowler if it wasn't for Peter and Diana. Oh God!

"And that's enough out of you, Morris," Bryce said sharply. "I still don't know why you didn't tell him earlier, once you knew that he was keeping _my_ secret."

"I suggested it," Kate said softly, "But someone above my pay grade wanted it kept a secret. I suspect because they were looking to recruit you to Fulcrum at the time and didn't want to risk connecting us."

The words drifted through Neal's head, making only fragments of sense. He was fairly certain he was in shock.

Then his vision was full of Kate as she gently kissed his cheek. "I'll miss you, Neal," she whispered. "It was fun. But this has to be goodbye for real." And then she was gone.

Neal wasn't sure how much time passed, but when he realized where he was, he found himself sitting in a quiet office. The handcuffs were gone, and a blanket was draped over his shoulders. From the taste in his mouth and the burning in his throat he had probably puked. Bryce was at the desk, typing away on a laptop, and when he glanced over and made eye contact with Neal he abruptly stopped.

"You back with us?" he asked quietly.

"How long did you know?" Neal asked instead.

Bryce sighed. "I've suspected something was off since her death: the forensics didn't match up. I didn't know the truth until this last mission. I got a hit on her two weeks ago and went to track her down. That's why I told you I'd be unreachable."

Neal looked down and found a water bottle sitting by his foot. Picking it up and taking a drink helped his throat, but did nothing to quell the nausea still rolling in his stomach. "What now?"

"Well, I think I can smooth things over with Peter," Bryce said casually. "And I can pull a few strings in the Bureau to keep your deal, if that's what you want. You also have open job offers from both the CIA and NSA if you'd rather."

"You know I don't like—" Neal started to give his usual response to Bryce's recruitment offers, but the words stuck in his throat. "Oh God, I was going to shoot him?"

"If you stay with the FBI, PTSD and grief counseling are non-negotiable," Bryce replied briskly. "Actually those are non-negotiable no matter what you choose."

Neal closed his eyes again. He should probably object to that, but he was too tired. "I want to stay with Peter," he decided.

"I figured you might." Bryce said, typing something on the laptop, then closing it. "Come on."

"Where?" Neal asked, even as he obeyed and stood up, the blanket falling off his shoulders.

"Hospital. You puked and then went into shock in the car, and Samson drove you to the hospital." Bryce explained.

As they exited the office, Neal realized that they already were in the hospital, but he had no memory of how they had gotten here from the warehouse. There had been a warehouse, hadn't there? Bryce led him a few yards down the hall and then into an empty room. It took a few minutes to get him into a pair of scrubs and for the nurse to attach a BP cuff and pulse ox monitor. Finally, she added a nasal cannula and an IV in his arm.

"Fluids," Bryce said simply when Neal glanced at him. "You're dehydrated. Probably haven't eaten in a while, either, given your blood sugar levels." Neal shook his head. He had eaten… last night? Possibly the night before? He'd had wine, at least, he remembered that.

Finally, Bryce pulled out a pair of handcuffs and cuffed Neal's leg to the bed. Neal sighed, but knew it was necessary; he'd left his tracker at home on Bugsy. "Go to sleep, Neal," he suggested, and from the warm, heavy feeling coming from his IV, Neal suspected he had no choice in that. "I'll fix things with Peter."

With that promise from Bryce, Neal let himself fade out again.

oOo

Peter had just finished the paperwork for placing Fowler in a holding cell when he realized that Neal had not been in the next one. Glancing at the office, Peter saw that both Neal and Samson were missing. Reaching into his pocket, Peter discovered that his phone had died or gotten turned off.

With a frustrated growl, he plugged it in and turned it back on, waiting impatiently for it to boot up. He was going to punch something if Neal had run and they were delayed by a dead phone. As soon as it was on, the missed call alert popped up, showing him that Samson had called him a handful of times. Peter quickly played the first voicemail.

_"Agent Burke, I'm at the ER. Caffrey started puking, and his lips are blue. I think he's catatonic — his eyes are open but he isn't responding. I'll let you know as soon as I get him inside. I promise I won't let him out of my sight."_

Part of Peter wanted to blame Neal — this could be part of a con, just like the one he had pulled today to go after Fowler. But part of Peter recognized the description as the signs of shock, which wasn't an entirely surprising reaction for Neal to have right now. He quickly played the next message.

_"It's Samson, Sir. The doctor says he's in shock. They want to sedate him now, but first she wants to know if Caffrey has any allergies to medications. I wasn't sure? I told them that he couldn't be left alone, so they're letting me be in the cubicle beside him. I won't let him out of my sight, Sir."_

Damn. Peter had Neal's medical proxy and allergy information, and he'd made sure that Diana and Jones knew it too, but he hadn't thought about turning Neal over to other members of the division. Fortunately Neal's only allergy was to penicillin, and they shouldn't need to give him that for shock. Peter hastily pressed the button for the next message.

_"They found his file, Sir. I guess you brought him here before, for… burns? And a fractured rib? They said he isn't allergic to the sedatives, so they're giving them to him. He's in a real bed now, so I handcuffed him to it. They're moving him to a room when they can; I'll stay with him."_

Peter knew exactly where Samson had gone, now; it was the same hospital where he had taken Neal the week after Wilkes kidnapped him. Peter didn't even realize his body was moving until his phone was unplugged and he was down beside Diana's desk.

"Boss?" She and Jones asked, looking up.

Peter sighed. "Samson had to take Neal to the hospital," he held up his phone in demonstration. "I'm heading there now. Jones, I need a new tracker. Swing by his place and pick up the one he left behind and see how he got out of it, then get me a new one if necessary. Diana, you're in charge of Fowler. You know the questions I need answered. Get a full statement about today, too. Then he's to be kept in isolation; no one talks to him or takes him out of here without my permission, got it?"

"Got it," they again replied in sync.

As Peter waited for the elevator, he realized he had one more message from Samson — this one a text. _Room 712._

When Peter got to the hospital, flashing his badge was enough to get him inside and up to the seventh floor. As soon as the elevator doors opened he saw Samson sitting in a hard plastic chair halfway down the hall.

"Sir!" He said, noticing Peter right away and jumping to his feet.

"I got your messages," Peter said brusquely. "Has anything changed?"

Samson shook his head. "He's unconscious from the sedation. His doctor had a lot of questions about his mental state, and what had happened to send him into shock. I didn't know all of it, and I wasn't sure what you wanted said about today, so I just told her it was an active FBI investigation and she'd need to wait for my boss."

"Good job," Peter clapped him on the shoulder. As much as he wanted to blame Samson for falling for a con, he wasn't sure himself if Neal was conning them or actually in shock, and the younger agent had done everything correctly, given the circumstances. "Where's the doctor?"

"She said to push Caffrey's call button and the nurse would summon her," Samson explained.

"Right," Peter approached the door. "Stay out here, just in case,"

"Yes, Sir," Samson settled back into the chair.

Inside, Peter quickly strode to Neal's bedside and found the call button, pressing it. Then, he took the opportunity to really look at Neal.

He should have looked peaceful — Peter had seen Neal on sedatives before and once he stopped singing he had slept very peacefully. Today though, Neal looked tense even in his sleep. There were dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't been sleeping well. Usually his dress shirts hid his body, but the short-sleeved scrub top laid his arms bare, and they were skinnier than Peter remembered. Peter suspected that Neal hadn't been eating well either.

Sighing, Peter sank down into the bedside chair. He had known that Neal was suffering after Kate's death. He had noticed the trembling hands, had suspected the flashbacks, and yet he did nothing about it. Telling Neal to cowboy up had clearly not been the answer, nor had assuming that he could handle things on his own. Peter wanted to be pissed at Neal, but he was also realizing that he might share part of the blame, for ignoring the problem until it got this bad.

oOo

Peter was unsurprised to be called into Hughes's office the next afternoon. He'd expected it that morning, to be honest. Neal was still in the hospital, and Peter was still sitting on Fowler, but he knew he'd have to do something about each of them soon.

"Come in, Peter," Hughes said with a sigh as Peter approached his office. "And shut the door."

Peter did as instructed, and settled into the chair warily.

"Do you still want to work with Caffrey?" The blunt question was not what Peter had expected.

"Sir?"

"You two have solved some pretty impressive cases, and your close rate is the best in the division," Hughes said. "Yesterday aside, do you still want to work with him?"

"Yesterday aside, absolutely," Peter said without hesitation, catching on the real question being asked.

Hughes sighed. "I thought you'd say that. I've spent most of the morning on the phone with Special Deputy Anderson, and we agreed that it should be up to you."

"Deputy Anderson?" Peter parroted back. He had no idea who that was.

Hughes frowned. "Deputy ADIC Anderson? He's the one who worked on Caffrey's budget snafu with you?"

Understanding hit Peter like a brick. His Ultra-Boss on extension 6325! "I, uh, never actually got his name," Peter admitted, embarrassed. He was also floored to realize that the man was even higher up the ladder than Peter had assumed.

Fortunately, Hughes laughed. "He can be pretty short on the phone," he agreed.

"Yes, Sir," Peter said, in the same tone he used for the Ult— for Deputy Anderson.

Hughes was still smiling as he continued. "Well Anderson and I discussed it, and we recognize that both of us should have seen the problem sooner. Quantico trains agents to handle a certain amount of personal risk. In short, we expect people to aim guns at us, and we're trained in how to handle that. It's perhaps less expected in White Collar than, say, Organized Crime, but it is a part of the job."

Peter nodded, understanding.

"We all made a mistake by treating Caffrey like an agent," Hughes held up his hand when Peter moved to protest. "I don't mean the way you treat him on cases, like a partner, Peter. I mean from a mental health perspective. Anderson and I reviewed Caffrey's file and we've agreed. When Caffrey was shot at on the Barelli case, he should have been sent to the office counselor to process what happened."

"Oh," Peter sighed. He realized where this was going.

"If not then, we should have done it after the Chinatown sting. Caffrey was not only shot at, but he found a dead body of an FBI agent a few hours later. He almost suffocated to death with Avery, the FBI turned him over to an old enemy who abused and tried to kill him… do I even need to mention the airport?" Hughes continued.

"I noticed that he wasn't doing well since Kate's death," Peter admitted. "I thought he just needed a little time to grieve and then he'd get over it."

"I made the same assumption," Hughes said, startling Peter. "I told you, Anderson and I discussed this. Caffrey is a criminal, but not the gun-toting kind that is used to firefights. He's used to using planning and charm to get in and out of a situation. When it comes to life-threatening danger, he might as well be a civilian. All three of us have known what Caffrey's been through, but we've been treating him like an agent who is trained to handle that kind of thing because that's what _we_ all are. The truth is that we put a civilian into situations that would be stressful even for an agent, and then we didn't give him the support he needed to handle the repercussions."

"You're saying he has PTSD?" Peter questioned.

"His doctor is saying he has PTSD," Hughes said, holding up a file that Peter assumed was from the hospital. "I'm saying that we should have — and will from now on — give him help for it. The only question being, once he is better, do you still want to work with him?"

Peter thought about that: Hughes was right — they had made assumptions about Neal's coping ability, and had ignored the signs that he wasn't well. In a strange way, Peter felt relief. He had been wracking his brain, trying to figure out how he had misjudged Neal so badly. How had he been fooled into thinking Neal was a mostly harmless pacifist when he really wasn't? Now, Peter reviewed the scene from yesterday again, seeing Neal's bloodshot eyes, the way his hands shook, the desperation in his expression.

"I do want to continue to work with Neal," Peter said firmly. "Yesterday is not on him: yesterday is on me. Aside from what you've pointed out, Neal has been giving me warning signs that he needed help. If I had been paying better attention, I could have stopped yesterday from happening."

"He's a conman who smiles for a living," Hughes pointed out. "Unfortunately, his ability to hide his true feelings worked against him this time."

Hughes was giving him an out, but stubbornly, Peter didn't want to take it. While he felt better knowing that he wasn't the only one who had missed the signs, he knew that the others didn't see Neal every day. Peter couldn't shake the feeling that _he_ should have known.

"Now, about Fowler," Hughes continued, snapping Peter back to attention. "You'll need Caffrey to talk to him — to make sure he's not lying — the doctor has given Caffrey something to keep calm and he'll come here before going back home. We also need to know how he got out of the anklet, and he'll need to share that if he wants to see Fowler."

"I understand," Peter said. He wasn't sure that seeing Fowler was what Neal needed, but it was true that they needed both men together to keep them honest in this story.

"Good, make it happen." came the clear dismissal.

As soon as Peter was back in his office, Samson tentatively knocked on the door. "Sir?"

"You did good yesterday," Peter said as he waved him in. Yesterday when Jones had been unavailable, Peter had threatened to arrest Samson himself if he took Caffrey anywhere but the holding cells. It had taken a lot of courage for him to decide to bring Neal to the hospital instead, but it had been the right call.

"Thank you, Sir." Samson stood up straighter, but still looked apprehensive. "I know it isn't my place, Sir, but…"

"That's ok, let me have it," Peter offered. He'd been snappy this week, but he generally encouraged his team to speak up.

"I was thinking about it, and it seems like Caffrey might — I mean, he was there on the tarmac when that plane blew up, wasn't he?" Samson began. "And the way he's been acting since — his hands shake, he drinks a lot of coffee, he doesn't fight to snag a donut from the box anymore — it seems like he might have PTSD?"

"We think so too," Peter admitted. "Good reasoning."

"Yes Sir. My sister Jane's a therapist, and she specializes in PTSD. She's got some military clients, but mostly she works with people who were, like, hostages in a bank robbery or that kind of thing. Civilians."

Peter smiled for what felt like the first time in days. "That's a good thought, Samson. Thank you. Get me her card and—" Samson pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it over. Peter chuckled. "Anything else?" Samson shook his head. "Good, get back to work," Peter joked.

oOo

"So tell me about Samson," Neal said tiredly as soon as Bryce entered his apartment at June's. He was slumped on the couch, staring out at nothing.

"Which one?"

"Both," Neal groaned.

Bryce decided not to tease him further; he could hear the sluggishness in Neal's voice that spoke of the strong tranqs he was on, and after his own conversation with Hughes earlier, Bryce was well aware of how fragile Neal was right now. At least, Bryce noted approvingly, he wasn't mixing wine with his medication.

"Greg — your Samson — is a CIA plant in the FBI. He was in Organized Crime, but transferred to study under Peter at the same time as you," Bryce explained.

"Let me guess, he'll mysteriously transfer back in three years?" Neal asked.

"Sue me: I wanted to protect you," Bryce shrugged. There was no point in hiding it, now that Samson had been forced to reveal himself.

"And the new one?"

"Jane's a CIA psychiatrist," Bryce explained easily. "She knows about me and my job, so you don't have to hide anything. You'll be skyping, as she's not in New York, but I've encrypted the feed myself, so the line will be secure. Anything you say to her is held in confidence; you won't be arrested for admitting to any crimes."

"I won't be arrested, no, but the CIA will know everything that goes through my head," Neal grumbled.

"Not exactly. Sure, I'll be told once you're coping better, but as your handler Peter would be told the same thing. The CIA brass doesn't care about your deepest darkest secrets unless you're one of their agents and you seem to be a danger to the people around you. We'll get the same amount of information the FBI would if you were one of their agents, instead of a civilian consultant."

" _Criminal_ consultant," Neal corrected.

"Not in this case," Bryce countered. "I'm not using the word to distinguish between felon and not, but between you and an agent who's been trained to deal with guns being pointed at them and planes blowing up a few feet from them. There's a difference between forging a painting and stumbling across a dead body. There's also a difference between knowing that your brother and ex-girlfriend are alive, and coping with the grief you felt for them or your relationships."

Neal shrugged.

"Talk to Jane. It'll do you good," Bryce said, sliding down onto the couch next to Neal. He pressed into Neal's side, initiating far more body contact than usual. Once he had connected the dots, Bryce knew that his own supposed death, and now the distance between them — phone calls instead of face-to-face contact — were likely a part of Neal's problem. That was something that Bryce could work on, starting tonight: being there, reminding Neal that he was real and alive.

His theory was rewarded when, a little while later, Neal slumped against him, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders and back. "Fine," Neal mumbled into his neck. Eventually he fell asleep that way, and Bryce dragged him across the room to his bed. And if Bryce sat beside him all night, watching over him, well, no one needed to know.


End file.
